Cup of Blood

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Cold. His fingers were cold. Digging them into his tunic sleeves did little good, as ragged and as full of holes as they were.

Jack Tucker lifted his face to the wet sky. Droplets pelted his numbed cheeks, but he barely felt them. Yanking his hood lower over his face, he scanned the street. So few were abroad now, what with the rain and the dim moonlight peeking beyond the tall buildings and shops. The bells in the nearby churches were tolling compline and soon the Watch would be roaming the streets, looking for stragglers like him.

“Jack.” It was almost a growl but it was only because it came out a gravelly whisper. He turned, looking for the maker of the sound and found him in the doorway of an abandoned shop. Jack’s eyes widened as he slowly approached.

The face of the young man looked far older than his fourteen or fifteen years, and Jack swallowed, looking him over. “What you doing there, Will?”

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